The Swallows          

The swallows built a nest 

Above my own front door. 

Though merry, they are quite messy 

White bird poop everywhere. 

Snatching a shovel I scrape 

Hard, then hose it down. 

Everyday, each week, I do this.

The month they come to town.

It seems the bird community 

Hangs out upon my porch.

Socializing, pooping. 

Chattering, and chirping.

Celebrate, and congregate

To decorate the porch.

I dread opening the door

For fear they swoop upon my head

To pull out strands of hair

For their nests, to weave as thread.

Nonchalant I try

No big deal I say, then cry

Act calm outside, and not to sweat

Though inside I’m terrified.

Swallows, swallows everywhere

Some neighbors hose them down

Some hope their cats

Will be as fast

Although they never are.

Hitchcock played his birds

As demons,

They vandalized a town.

Much bigger than my swallows

I never saw them poop

On film, TV or theatre 

Nor a drop upon my stoop.

   Laurie B. Ballard    

4/2/2014